Nine Eleven

7 Deadly Sins

The High Alone from Broken and Reset: Selected Poems 1966-2006

Tangles of rushing,
the mess of the times
turning the briar paths
of achievement into jumbles
of junked derricks,
winches, oily chains and old
motels shipwrecked with only
the tattered signs of what
havens they once were in storms, all now just
down in the dumps
speculations.
Only wind tides on the land,
prong horns surfing currents,
riding grass swells with their muscles,
can advise us.
If we could live
in motion, honest
to our natures, even in
mires of needs and time,
without ambition but to flow,
we could finally say
we’ve learned how
to move like a blade
not a fist,
like a breath
not an anvil
falling from the 55th floor.